NEW YORK, MAY, 1840. HARPER'S FERRY. HARPER'S FERRY is situated on the Potomac River, near its junction with the Shenandoah, and between the counties of Jefferson in Virginia, and Frederick in Maryland, sixty-five miles W. N. W. from the city of Washington. It is noticeable as being connected with some historic recollections, but chiefly as being the location of a United States' manufactory of arms, and for its remarkably grand and striking scenery. It is in the vicinity of Harper's Ferry that the Potomac forces its turbulent passage through the Blue Ridge. "This is, perhaps," says Mr. Jefferson, in his notes on Virginia, "one of the most stupendous scenes in nature. You stand on a very high point of land. On your right comes up the Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain a hundred miles, to seek a vent. On your left approaches the Potomac, in quest of a passage also. In the moment of their junction, they rush together against the mountain, rend it asunder, and pass off together. The first glance of this scene hurries our senses into the opinion that the mountains were formed first-that the rivers began to flow afterwards-that in this place, particularly, they have been dammed up by the Blue Ridge of mountains, and have formed an ocean which filled the whole valley; that, continuing to rise, they have at length broken over at this spot, and have torn the mountain down from its summit to its base. The piles of rock on each hand, but particularly on the Shenandoah, which bear the evident marks of their disruption and convulsion from their beds by the most powerful agents of nature, corroborate the impression. But the distant finishing which nature has given to the picture, is of a very different character. It is a true contrast to the foreground. It is placid and delightful, as that is wild and tremendous. For the mountain being cloven asunder, she presents to your eye through the cleft, a small catch of smooth blue horizon, at an infinite distance in the plain country, inviting you, as it were, from the riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through the breach, and participate in the calm below. Here the eye ultimately composes itself; and that way, too, the road happens actually to lead. You cross the Potomac above the junction, pass along its side through the base of the mountain for three miles, its terrible precipices hanging in fragments over you. This scene is worth a voyage across the Atlantic." The point of sight in our picture is, fortunately, probably the same, or nearly so, as that assumed by Mr. Jefferson; and the reader can readily apply his animated description to the view as given in our picture. Still farther to enhance the interest of the scene, on the north side, after the junction of the two rivers, an impetuous torrent dashes and foams over a bed of rocks, that have tumbled from the overhanging precipices; and, immediately below, the waters flow in unbroken calmness, forming an impressive contrast. VOL. XIII-I men. The manufactory of arms at this place, was founded in 1798, and now employs two hundred and sixty work. Eight large brick buildings are devoted to the manufacture, six on the Potomac side, and two on the Shenandoah, two miles distant. Two brick structures, likewise, are devoted to the purposes of an arsenal. The population of the village is a thousand. It is an interesting incident connected with the history of Harper's Ferry, that it was in crossing at this place, that Washington first met the lady afterwards his wife. Original. A TALE FROM THE GERMAN. BY MRS. E. F. ELLET. I CHANCED to be at Vienna on business, which having successfully accomplished, I resolved to avail myself of the opportunity of seeing the lions, and enjoying the pleasures of the imperial city. Who knows, thought I, if I shall ever again visit Vienna? I went much into company; I was admitted into domestic circles. The mothers received me very graciously, and I was smiled upon likewise, by the young ladies; being known to be a bachelor, and belonging to a respectable house. I was reported as the rich banker, and addressed universally as Herr von Walter. the folds of the envious cambric; I stood near her, I hardly removed my gaze from her person. The dance began. Many fair ones stood up with their partners; the lovely Tarnau was not asked. I claimed her hand; she gave it with winning grace; and we were partners for the rest of the evening. How light and airy were her movements, like one of Titania's fairies! And then her smiles-her bright glances, her words, so full of inexpressible grace. Ah-shame on nature-thus, in cruel caprice, to spoil her choicest work! It was late when I went home. I was completely charmed. She was so gentle, so cheerful-so frank and unaffected! Surely she knew not that I-that every one, was acquainted with her misfortune. The better for her, I was not enthusiastic enough to fall in love upon the I had never yet thought of marriage, and fluttered, fancy-spot, though well she deserved it. But I confessed that free, from one beauty to another. I drank delight from the eyes of all, but knew not what it was to love. "Mademoiselle de Tarnau is expected also," was the remark I heard one evening at an assembly, from an elderly lady near me, to her youthful neighbor. "She is a lovely girl," replied the person addressed; "nay-she might be called even beautiful, if she had not that terrible defect." "Ah!" said the elder lady-"you mean the mole, which she has on the lower part of her neck! They say it resembles a mouse." "A mouse? Pardon me, dear lady, but if it were nothing worse, she would not find it necessary to muffle herself so up to the chin. No-no! 'tis a camel with two ears, a long neck, and four feet." "You are quite mistaken," observed a third lady, who joined in the conversation; "I know all about it. It is a mole simply, but of monstrous size. The whole bosom is dark brown, of the color of coffee; and up to the neck, only imagine! quite up to the neck is covered with fine white hair!" "How shocking!" exclaimed the elder lady. "Oh, yes!" said one of the younger ones; "if such a misfortune had happened to me"-and she gleamed at her own lovely bust, shielded by thin gauze, like snow by a tender mist, "I am sure I could not survive it!" no woman had ever pleased me so well. My heart was moved by a deep sympathy-such an angel well merited sympathy! soon, My impressions would probably have worn off very but the next day on returning from a walk, and ascending the steps of my hotel, I met, unexpectedly, Mademoiselle de Tarnau, with her aunt. As a matter of course we exchanged compliments; and surprise was ex||pressed on both sides, on learning that we resided beneath the same roof. I was rejoiced to hear of it, and begged permission to visit the ladies occasionally in their parlor. I could not help observing, as I glanced at the young lady-that her neck and shoulders were completely concealed beneath the folds of a large shawl, carefully pinned under her chin. But the face was heavenly fair! They went on down the steps; I hastened up to my chamber, and to the window, to catch a glimpse of her receding figure. They stepped into a carriage and drove off. I sighed, with mingled feelings of admiration and compassion. It may readily be conceived that I availed myself of the permission I had received, and visited the ladies from time to time. They were, like myself, strangers in Vienna; I accompanied them to the theatre, and other places of amusement. The better I knew the fair Josephine, so her aunt called her-the more charming qual than any woman I had ever beheld-alas! nothing is perfect in this world! Here others took part in the discourse, each confirm-ities I discovered in her. She was more perfectly feminine ing what I had heard, and all expressing the utmost pity for Mademoiselle de Tarnau. At length the door opened and the young lady entered, accompanied by her aunt. As we met daily, there was daily less and less formality Even had not my attention been drawn to her by the between us. I felt, at last, as if I belonged wholly to strange history to which I had been listening-I should them. The aunt treated me with that confidence which have been struck, at first sight, by her extraordinary a traveller so willingly bestows on a worthy fellow travelbeauty and grace. Suffice to say-she attracted univer-ler. sal admiration; but it seemed that all looked upon her with a sort of compassion. Her neck was covered; and that circumstance served to remind every one of the mouse, or of the camel. "How could nature be so cruel," was every man's thought-" thus frightfully to disfigure her most charming creation?" And, I deny it not, it was my thought likewise. That evening the fairest neck unveiled its charms in vain for me; my thoughts dwelt on the deformity of the lovely maiden, my eyes strove to penetrate through But in Josephine's manner I flattered myself I could discover the dawn of real friendship. If it happened that I was prevented, by business, from being with them at the appointed hour, I had to listen to gentle reproaches, and not unfrequently the fair girl would fix her eyes upon me long in silence, and abstractedly, as if she would look into my heart, then suddenly recover herself, after asking some question not exactly to the point. After this I suffered no business to interfere with my visits, but was punctual to the stroke of the bell. My happiness lasted not long. A letter came to me from home; my good father was ill from a stroke of apoplexy-he had inquired for me. I had no time to lose, if I wished to embrace him again in this world. The letter came in the morning; in half an hour I was ready-the stage coach at the hotel door. The servant announced that all was adjusted; I went down in a dream-half frantic with anxiety and sorrow, and about to part without an adieu from my friends. I was just stepping into the coach, when a voice from above called to me "Where are you going?" It was the sweet voice of Josephine. I looked up; she leaned from the window, and repeated her question. I recollected myself; I hastened back into the hotel, and up-stairs; common courtesy, as well as friendship, required this of me. I knocked softly; the door opened. Josephine, in a simple morning dress, came to meet me; but started suddenly back with surprise and fright. "Heavens!" exclaimed she, "what is the matter? What has happened? you are pale and disordered!" || By reason of my father's sudden death and my long illness, the business of our house had become greatly embarrassed. This was fortunate for me, as occupation saved me from painful reflection. In time, all was established as before; I was at the head of my house. And soon as the mourning was laid aside-came cousins and aunts with their matrimonial schemes. I interfered not in their plans, nor troubled myself much with their advice or exertions. Neither aunt, cousin, nor any pledged advocate of Hymen, could doso much as one pretty maiden at the right time. In our whole town there was no pretty maiden-nay, that is a calumny-it was the right time that was wanting! I now recurred to the past. I felt alone; felt that I needed something to make me happy. My house, since my father's death, had become a desert. Yet among all the young ladies of my acquaintance, I could not select one with whom I should have been willing to share my solitude. I know not how it happened, but only like a long forgotten history did my visit to Vienna, and my acquainIn the emotion with which she spoke, and while she tance with Mademoiselle de Tarnau, rise to my rememstretched forth her hand to meet mine, the cashmere brance. I was in my chamber, as good luck whould have shawl, she had thrown lightly over her shoulders, parted, || it. I sprang from the sofa in the exstasy of my spirit; and revealed to my sight what caused me, for the instant, to forget my journey, and its cause. I had eyes only for the secret of that veiled bosom. Think what was my astonishment! The lovely neck was bared, white as the driven snow, save the brown mole, which lay on the swelling alabaster of her breast. But it was neither mouse nor camel, but a dark brown spot, of the size and exact shape of a bean. I gave but one glance, for the fair girl, blushing, quickly drew her shawl around her. I could not speak, but stood, overpowered with various emotions, like a statue before her. "For Heaven's sake!" cried the aunt, "tell us, what has happened? Has any misfortune befallen you?" "My father has had a stroke of apoplexy," I answered, "he is at the point of death-I must leave you!" It was all I could utter. I kissed the ladies' hands, and took leave. Josephine held my hand a little-a very little moment, clasped in hers. I thought her cheek grew pale, and her eyes suffused. Perhaps it was not so-for I saw nothing clearly; all swam like shadows, before my sight. Once in the coach, I forgot all but my father's illness. I travelled day and night; I was in a fever of dread. That journey was terrible. Only in fleeting dreams, during my snatches of slumber, had I moment's peace. When the carriage stopped before my paternal residence, my relations came out to meet me, in the apparel of mourning. All was over. My father's remains were already committed to the earth. I stretched out my arms, as if to clasp her fair formand uttered her name, with mixed feelings of sorrow and delight-of despondency and ardent love. That was the right time-the magic hour. Josephine was fair enough in herself; but my fancy invested her with unearthly charms. Do not laugh, when you learn, that though I had gone to bed in perfect sobriety, I was deeply in love the next morning. My home seemed desolate to me. Every where I sought and seemed to see my beloved. I pictured her as my wife, now occupied in some household work, on the window-seat: now at the piano, while I listened behind her; now breakfasting with me at the little round table. All her unspeakable grace, her looks, her smiles, her bird-like voice, came back to me with increased power. I was overcome by turns with different feelings; now I floated in rapture and exulted in dreams of bliss; now I wept at the thought that Josephine might be lost to me. My condition became intolerable. I arranged my business, hired post-horses and proceeded forthwith to Vienna. Now and then sober thoughts dissipated my fanciesWhat may not have happened, thought I, in sixteen months? Perhaps she loves another. Perhaps she is married. She is not, besides, entirely at liberty; she is young, has parents and relations, who may have their own views; again, she is of noble descent. Then I thought of the friendship that had begun between us; I consoled myself with the remembrance of her pale cheek, of her tearful eyes, of the involuntary pressure of her hand at our last adieu. I was fain to draw the inference that I was not indifferent to her; for I strove against despair. Better death-I thought, than life without her; better delirium and bliss, than sober sense and misery! I will not here attempt to paint my grief. I loved my father, with all his caprices, with true filial tenderness. The shock I experienced, and the agitation of my journey threw me into a violent fever. I forgot every thing. For three months I lay on a bed of sickness. As I slowWith such feelings I came once more to Vienna. My ly recovered, and the past gradually came to my recollec-search through the city, I have already described to you. tion, like objects through dissolving mists, I was as cold and calm as if nothing had ever happened to disturb my equanimity. Mademoiselle de Tarnau was nowhere to be found. The hotel was kept by another landlord; I could gain from him no information, nor from any of my acquaintances. || paigns there, and he was eagerly listened to-for he narNor was I more successful with letters to Augsburg. rated well. After supper, punch was sent round the table, and the conversation became more earnest and lively. The old officer told us of one of his battles-and how he was wounded in the breast, had fallen from his horse, and I was now in despair-and bitterly accused myself. Was it not my fault, that I had been so unpardonably negligent, during my first visit to Vienna, as not to inform myself of her family and place of residence? I dreamed not then, indeed, that I should be so deeply in love six-been taken prisoner by the Turks. In the warmth of his teen months afterwards. "A bean?" exclaimed all the company. relation he tore open his vest to show us the scar; and It but added to my love and my sorrow to see her it was observed that on the silken lace he wore a small apartments where I now took up my quarters. There gold breast pin. He himself took it off-and said, "the was the same furniture; the same chair on which she rascals robbed me of every thing: but this-the most prehad sat; the same table at which she had written. All cious of my treasures-I saved." All supposed, of course, the past rose so vividly before me, that I sometimes would that it was a diamond of 1are size, or a pearl of extraorstart from my seat at a slight rustling-and look for dinary value, an eastern jewel. "No indeed!" cried the herself or aunt to enter at the door of the little bed cham-colonel-" it is none of these;-it is only a bean!" ber. I sought over the rooms for some memorial of her; twenty times examined the walls, from the ceiling to the floor, in hopes of finding her name, perhaps that of her country, among the records of other travellers. But in vain! Yet, strange enough! the first day I occupied the apartments, I found in the drawer of the writing tablelaugh not a small shining brown bean. It was to me a sacred symbol, and found in Josephine's chamber! As I had now nearly given up the hope of finding my lovely girl, I took the bean, carried it to a jeweller, and had it "I will tell you," said the old officer, as he filled his set in gold, to wear constantly on my breast, as a memo-pipe. "I fear only that the story will not have much rial of the most charming of her sex-and my tragic interest for you. Your pipes, gentlemen! "I was a cadet in my fifteenth year, a lieutenant in my twentieth;" continued he. "At five and twenty I was far more-as a man is, when in love. That I was. romance. I returned like a widower to my native city. I thought all young ladies intolerable; I buried myself in business; I shunned society. Josephine's image swept before me continually, like the vision of an angel, and I cherished the bean I wore on my breast, as sacredly, as if I had received the jewel from her own hand. The unhappy must be allowed his dreams! I persuaded myself at length that my fair one had intentionally placed the bean in the drawer. After all-fancy is as good as philosophy-if it can only make a man happy! I know not whether the blood rushed into my face, or curdled at my heart; but I could scarcely master my emotion. "How comes he," thought I "by a bean, set in gold, and worn like mine, in his bosom?" I would fain have asked him, but I was stupified, and could not utter a syllable. I swallowed eagerly a glass of punch to gain strength for the great question. But it was already on the lips of all present. "Our Colonel had a daughter, the loveliest and most accomplished girl in the whole kingdom, and I had a heart, as well as two eyes. The young Countess Von Obendorf-I preferred to call her by her Christian name, Sophie-for I was, nota bene! no Count! Sophie was sixteen years old. You may imagine the feelings likely to grow up between a youth of twenty-five, and a girl of sixteen; they were natural; but the old Colonel, who My friends thought I was growing melancholy and ill. had the eye of a hawk for affairs of the regiment, saw Cousins and aunts presented me with invitations, solici- nothing of them. He liked me much; treated me as a tations and diversions; physicians were sent to me. Ison, for he had known my parents, who were dead. I would have nothing to do with any of them. But to be would have given the world to become really his son, but rid of my tormentors, and show them that I was like that was not to be hoped for. He was Colonel—I Lieuother people I once or twice in the week went into tenant; he was a Count-I a Commoner; he was company, at the houses of my friends. One evening, I wealthy-I, poor as possible. accepted the invitation of Counsellor Hildebrand. That was the crisis in my life. The conver I arrived late; business having detained me. A gentleman in company was introduced to me as a lieutenant Colonel in the Russian service, who had lately purchased a country sent in the vicinity of our town. I saluted him with distant civility, and took my seat, sation was lively, but I had no inclination to take part in it. The Russian Colonel drew my attention. He was a tall, powerful man, of very commanding appearance, apparently upwards of sixty-but full of the fire of youth. He had a few scars and seams on his forehead and cheeks; and wore the badge of an order in his button hole. His voice was deep and stern; his whole exterior proclaimed the commanding officer. The discourse was now of Persia, now of Moldavia; the colonel had been in cam "The Countess Sophie placed not half so much stress upon title, property and dignity, as the old soldier, her father, I observed that her manner to me was more friendly than to any of the other officers; that she preferred my society; that in summer she accompanied me most willingly in garden walks, and in winter, chose me as her companion in sleighing excursions. I could not indeed infer thence that she loved me; but I knew too well, that I loved, adored, idolized her. Often I wished to fall at her feet and avow my passion, but, Heaven knows, I have since, I know not how many times, met the enemy's charge at the head of my regiment, with more courage than I could take one step towards the lovely Sophie. But I will not tire you by a history of my internal struggles. "One evening I had to carry a report to my lord the Colonel. He was not at home; that was no great misfortune, for the Countess Sophie sat alone in the parlor, and I was permitted to await the return of her father. "I was strangely embarrassed. When we met in large companies, we could chat and talk endlessly; but here, alone, we knew not what to say to each other. I know not, gentlemen, if it has ever thus happened to any of you. "Before the young Countess stood a table; and on the table, between the wax candles, a draught-board. There were also white and dark-colored beans, with which to play the game. At a pause-by no means a tedious one, "Our embarrassment was removed; we chatted freely as in the midst of company. Sophie had wit and spirit; she laughed, bantered me, and provoked me to repartee. In sport, I took up one of my brown beans, and threw it at her with a roguish laugh. My missive threatened her nose, but throwing back her pretty head, she avoided it, and it fell-ah, me! through the folds of her handkerchief into her bosom. How fortunate it was not an arrow ! "With that he turned him round, and strode from the chamber. I confess I thought it strange that he should allow us even another minute's conversation; but so it The young Countess stood in the middle of the room, her head sunk on her bosom, her hands clasped and hanging down, like a statue. was. 'Sophie!' I exclaimed, and hastening to her, clasped her in my arms, and pressed her passsionately to my heart; Sophie! I lose you for ever!' 'No' she replied, with firmness; not for ever. So long as I breathe, your image will live in my heart.' And this she said in a tone that pierced my very soul. 'Am I dear to you, Sophie?' I softly asked; and my lips pressed her rosy mouth. She said not yes-nor no-but returned my caress; I felt, at that moment, as if one of the seraphim. Her sobs recalled me to consciousness. 'Sophie!' I cried again, sinking at her feet, "hear me swear to belong to you alone, as long as I breathe, and wherever fate may send me!' There was a death-like silence; our souls joined in the vow. Suddenly some thing dropped from the folds of her kerchief to the ground. It was the unfortunate bean-the occasion of all our sorrow. I took it, arose, and held it towards Sophie, saying, 'This is the work of Providence. I will keep it as a memorial of this evening.' The lovely girl threw herself into my arms; her eyes shone through her tears. "Yes, it is a Providence!" she whispered, and disengaging herself from my embrace, she left the room. "Early the next morning she set out on her journey. The Colonel treated me at the parade with contemptuous coolness. I obtained my dismissal, and went away "I was frightened, and felt my cheeks glow. Sophie also became crimson, and looked gravely on the floor. It was no time for jest. She was silent-I could not speak. I feared she was angry with me; I glanced slyly at her; she returned me a very grave look: I could bear no more. I started up; I fell on my knees before-whither, her, pressed her hand to my lips, and besought forgiveShe answered not a syllable, but she suffered me to retain her hand. ness. 'Oh, Countess-oh, dearest Sophie,' I cried, 'be not offended with me! I should die if I lost your esteem. I live only for you-only through you. Life is worthless without you. You are my soul-my heaven —my all.' "The rest is soon told. I spoke with tears in my eyes, and she wept while she listened. I implored an answer from her, yet allowed her no time to answer. And, nota bene! my lord the Colonel stood three steps distant from us in the apartment, having entered without being heard or seen, either by Sophie or myself. He must have glided in like a ghost. Heaven rest his soul! he is now in Paradise. "His terrible voice startled us like a burst oft hunder, as he poured forth upon us a whole volley of regiment oaths. I sprang up and stood before him; Sophie lost not her presence of mind. We attempted to pacify him, but he would not suffer us to speak. 'Silence!' cried he, with as stern an emphasis as if he had stood between two regiments of cavalry, instead of two trembling culprits. 'You, Sophie, leave here to-morrow morning. You, Mr. Lieutenant, apply for your dismissal, and quit the Province immediately; you stay at the peril of your life!' was matter of indifference to me. Some friends gave me letters to Petersburg, and provided me with sufficient to bear my expenses. I went to the rude north. Sophie, I felt, was lost to me; I had nothing more of her than sad remembrance-and the fateful bean, This I had set in gold at Konningsberg, and have now worn it for two and forty years. "I soon obtained a higher post. I cared not for life, so easily earned the reputation of bravery. I fought in Asia and Europe, and gained much spoil and honor, and many dignities-whatever was most pleasing to a soldier. At the end of twenty odd years I was a colonel. I had grown old; the history of my youth was as a forgotten tale. Yet I still cherished the bean. When taken prisoner at the battle of Kinburn, by the Janizaries-that was a hot day—and the Prince of Massau made good his cause they plundered me of every thing-but discovered not my sacred relic. I was near dying; exhausted by wounds, and dragged about two days by the Infidels. But, pursued by our cavalry, they at length left me half dead on the field, where my people found me. I went to Lazareth, and, in order fully to re-establish myself, had to return, at the head of my transports, to Moscow. Quiet recovered me. Life began again to have charms for me. After twenty year's service, and so many honorable wounds, I could reasonably hope for an honorable dismissal. I received it, with a pension. But I was restless. Moscow is a fair city-but rather |